


ignore all those blinding warning signs

by thistidalwave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall ventures from small town Ireland to London to search for the father he's never met before and discovers more than he bargained for -- including but not limited to the cute boy with the curls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ignore all those blinding warning signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohohstarryeyed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohohstarryeyed/gifts).



> AU of the movie _What a Girl Wants_ consisting of happy humourous shenanigans and boys being cute. If you don't know what Bobby Horan looks like, worry not, for I picture Colin Firth and feel that everyone should also do as such.
> 
> Thanks to [words_unravel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel) for all the cheerleading and reading it over. :D

_one ;_

Niall nudges Zayn’s foot with his own from the other side of the line of chairs they’re taking up in the boarding lounge. Zayn moves feet to the ground and shifts so he’s sitting facing forward in his chair, slouched with his arms crossed in front of him and resolutely not making eye contact with Niall. 

Niall sighs. “Lighten up,” he says. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” Zayn says for approximately the billionth time. Niall rolls his eyes.

“If you wanted to keep arguing about it, you probably should’ve done that before we bought the plane tickets and went through security and all.”

“I’m having a delayed panic attack,” Zayn says. He does have a bit of a crazed look in his eyes, Niall has to admit. “I see only disaster in our future.”

“Shut up,” Niall says. “It’ll be fun.”

-

Fifty minutes later and three thousand feet higher, Niall may well be having his own delayed panic attack, except Zayn fell asleep before they’d even taken off and the person sitting on Niall’s other side has their earphones in to listen to the in-flight entertainment, so Niall has no one to freak out at.

It’s not that Niall doesn’t want to go to London and meet the father he’s been wishing would show up for his birthday every year since he was four and his mum told him he actually did have a father--and surprise, he’s Bob Dashwood, bona fide lord with a place in the England House of Commons and everything. He absolutely does. He may have gone so far as to dramatically tell Maura the other night that he _felt like part of him was missing_ without knowing his father. 

Zayn had been staying with Niall and Maura on exchange from England for the past year, and since it was the end of the school year and he was returning home to Bradford by way of London, Niall had jumped at the chance to--well, wheedle at Zayn until he agreed to stay in London with Niall for a bit as support for going to meet his father.

So it’s not that he doesn’t want to do this, it’s just that it’s suddenly seeming like a really terrible idea overall.

He probably should have called ahead or something, right? Fuck, he should have called ahead. 

-

“For fuck’s sake, please tell me that’s the right hotel. This rain is going to ruin my hair,” Zayn complains, trying desperately to use his rucksack as an umbrella and failing. 

“Well, it’s not what I was expecting from a hotel with ‘grand’ in the name, but it seems to be,” Niall says, staring at his guidebook. 

“Whatever,” Zayn says, hurrying across the road and ducking inside the door of the rather tiny building. Niall huffs and follows after him.

Zayn is peering in a mirror that’s by the door and trying to fix his quiff when Niall makes it through the door and looks around the lobby of the hotel, which appears, he thinks, a lot more like a diner than anything, with tables interspersed about the room and wood panelled walls. It seems quaint, though, nice and friendly--a sentiment Niall voices aloud and gets snorted at by Zayn for.

“You just think the bloke playing the guitar over there is fit,” Zayn says, gesturing. 

Niall hadn’t even noticed the guy perched on a counter, plucking out chords and shaking curls out of his face, but if he had, Zayn probably would have been right. Niall attempts to nonchalantly wander closer to hear what the guy is humming under his breath and gets close enough to hear him say, “No, that isn’t right.”

“No, it sounded good!” Niall says brightly, and the guy jumps, flailing, and barely catches himself from falling over. Niall winces. “Er, sorry.” Zayn snorts from behind Niall.

“That’’s all right,” the guy says. “Thanks for the compliment, anyway. Uh, are you two checking in?”

“I think so. Do you know where--” Niall trails off when the guy hops off on the other side of the counter and pushes a sign reading _Reception_ in front of himself. “Oh. You work here?”

“One of my many daytime jobs,” the guy says. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

 _Harry_ , Niall thinks. It suits him. “I’m Niall Horan, that’s who the reservation should be under. And this is my friend Zayn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, and then he _winks_ and Niall has to struggle not to faint or something.

-

It doesn’t take very long for Harry to check them in and show them to their room, during which time Niall completely loses control of his verbal filter and starts rambling all about what they’re doing in London and how it’s nice to meet a fellow musically inclined person and isn’t the weather just dreadful? Zayn smirks at Niall from behind Harry the entire time and Niall kind of wants to just disappear. 

“Wait, your father is Lord Dashwood?” Harry interrupts when Niall is detailing the circumstances of his mother leaving his father. “The Lord Dashwood that just renounced his seat to run for political office?”

“Uh--yeah, unless there’s another one,” Niall says. 

“And he doesn’t know you exist?” 

“Well, I hope not, because if he does and never tried to contact me, I’m going to be really upset.”

“Huh,” Harry says. He looks around the room, fidgeting with the lanyard with the keys on the end of it in his hands, then seems to come to a decision. “D’you want my number? For, I dunno, someone to talk to. Whenever. Or whatever.” His cheeks have turned a light shade of pink and Niall stares at him, stuck on how much like an adorably confused kitten he looks. 

“He does,” Zayn says after a long silent moment. “You can put it in my mobile, I’ll put it in his later.”

Harry takes Zayn’s phone and punches in his number quickly before handing it back along with the room keys. “Hope you get settled in all right,” he says. “Good luck with your dad if I don’t see you before then.”

“Thanks,” Niall manages to say, and then Harry’s gone and Niall’s left alone with Zayn’s judgemental stare.

“You’ve got it bad,” he says flatly. 

“You pointed him out,” Niall says weakly, flopping back onto one of the beds.

-

Niall paces back and forth on the pavement. “This was a horrible idea,” he says.

“That’s what I said,” Zayn replies from where he’s leaning against the huge stone wall that separates the grounds of Dashwood Manor from the rest of the world. “But you didn’t listen to me and we’re here now, so you need to go up to the gates and tell them who you are.”

Niall shudders. “Uh, no. I’d rather climb the wall or something. Less stress.”

-

“I hate you,” Zayn says from where he’s fallen behind a bush by the wall. “I never ever liked you.”

“Stop lying,” Niall says, getting to his feet and brushing off his jeans. “Come on, let’s check this place out.”

“I _hate_ you,” Zayn repeats, but he’s following Niall. 

“It’s so _posh_ ,” Niall says gleefully, pointing out a hedge trimmed into the shape of a swan. 

Four minutes later, Niall’s checking out a stone bird fountain when Zayn comes sprinting past him, grabbing his arm and dragging him along. “They saw me in the window,” he says hysterically. Niall tries desperately to keep up with Zayn and not trip over his feet and fails epically, bringing Zayn down with him. 

“Ouch,” he mumbles and rolls onto his back just in time for a figure to loom over him. He squints and recognises the face he’s seen in pictures his mum has shown him for years. “Oh fuck, it’s you,” he says. 

“How did you get in here? Can’t you people lay off for five minutes?” Lord Dashwood fumes.

-

They’ve been dragged inside and sat on rather hard wooden chairs in the middle of some fancy room with tile floors, and Bob is staring at them, an elderly woman and two middle aged men hovering behind him. “Who sent you, then? The Sun? The Daily Mail?”

“Neither, sir,” Zayn says, then kicks at Niall’s shin. “Tell him, Niall, come on.”

Niall starts out of his stupor caused by staring at his father in actual real life. “Oh, right. Um. My name’s Niall Horan, and I’m actually your son.”

Bob frowns. “I don’t have a son.”

“Right, no,” Niall says. “I have, uh, a picture of you and my birth certificate has your name on it.” He digs into his pockets and pulls out the two pieces of paper, holding them out to Bob, who takes them hesitantly, frowning. 

“Maura?” he asks. The elderly woman plucks the papers out of his hands and studies them herself. 

Niall nods. “Yeah, that’s my mum’s name.”

“Timeline’s right, dear,” the elderly woman says. “Hiya there, Niall. I’ll be your grandmother then. You can call me Nan. So can your friend.” She offers her hand to both of them in turn to shake. Niall immediately likes her.

One of the middle aged men hovering behind Bob shakes his head. “Wait, we’re just going to believe this random teenager? He’s so _Irish_.”

“Hey,” Niall protests.

Nan fixes the man with a look. “Don’t be absurd, Thomas. Of course we are, he’s got the documents and a picture.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” the other man says. “She could have written the first man to come to mind down, and it’s not like one can’t find many pictures of Bob online.”

“This is an old photo, Benjamin, of the sort one prints from film,” Nan says. “I know you’re old enough to remember them.”

Benjamin glares at Nan. Bob clears his throat. “Um, right. I guess... I have a son. That... Maura never told me about. I, er... have a son.”

“Yep,” Niall says. “Hi.”

Zayn snorts.

-

After a lot of loud arguing from who Niall eventually works out are his father’s advisors involving a lot of talk about the election and something about booking a hotel room for two random teenage boys looking weird, Niall’s grandmother works some sort of magic that ends in Niall lying on a truly gigantic bed in a room probably more suited to a prince than to him. It’s very gold. There’s _crenellation_ on the walls. 

“This is the coolest ever,” he tells Zayn, who has wandered in from his own room and is standing at the end of the bed, looking down at Niall with a very unimpressed look on his face. “Is your room this cool?”

“Cooler,” Zayn deadpans. “I just went for a wander through the halls and heard your dad on the phone.”

“‘Went for a wander’,” Niall mocks. “Posh. Who was he on the phone to?”

“Your mum, as far as I could tell. He sounded, uh, pretty angry.”

Niall visibly droops. “Great,” he says. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“No!” Zayn says. “Don’t be stupid. I know I said it was a bad idea, but you deserve to get to know your dad.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for my mum, though,” Niall says.

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t think it’s anything she can’t handle, Nialler. Now come on, you can’t lie here and sulk, let’s go check out the rest of the place now that we’re allowed to be here.” He offers his hand to Niall and Niall takes it, letting Zayn drag his dead weight to a standing position. 

“Good plan,” Niall says. “I want to throw something from the highest window we can find.”

-

Niall pokes his head in the door of what he’s pretty sure is his father’s study sometime after 9 PM, already changed into comfortable sleeping clothes and clutching a photo album to his chest. “Hello?” he asks the leather back of a chair, kind of hoping Bob’s not even here and he can just leave the album on the desk with a note or something.

No such luck--the chair spins around to reveal his father. “Niall,” he says. “I thought you’d gone to bed already.”

Niall shrugs. “I’m on my way, probably. I just, um--brought this for you.” He puts the album down on the desk and pushes it toward Bob a little. “It’s just a bunch of pictures of me growing up and stuff. Thought you might like it.”

He steps back and fidgets with the hem of his t-shirt. His father is quiet for a long moment, staring at the book, then nods and looks up at Niall. “Thank you,” he says. “I appreciate it.” 

Niall nods and turns to leave. 

“Wait, Niall,” Bob says, and Niall turns back. “There’s this, uh, this fashion show tomorrow that I must attend, and, um, would you like to accompany me?”

“A fashion show?” Niall asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes, well, the Royal Dress Show put on by the Prince of Wales,” Bob clarifies.

“Oh!” Niall says, his words tripping over themselves in their haste to get out of his mouth. “All sorts of famous people go to those, don’t they? Like Madonna. Or, it’s a political thing, so will Obama be there?”

Bob blinks. “I have no idea what you just said.”

Niall shakes his head. “Never mind, I think I’d like to go. Zayn can come, too, right?”

“Yes, sure, that would be fine. I’ll send someone with something suitable for you to wear tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Niall says. “Um, thank you. Good night.”

“Good night,” Bob replies, and Niall just barely stops himself from actually saluting before leaving the room.

-

“I feel like a monkey,” Niall says, tugging at his tie. 

Zayn snorts. “I feel like James Bond. Sorry for your troubles.”

Niall glares at him. “You look like Bond, too. Stop rubbing it in.”

“Well, you don’t look like a monkey, so,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Are you ready to go back yet, or are you going to keep staring into the mirror of a public toilet like it knows the proper social conventions you’re supposed to be conveying at an event like this?”

Niall blinks. “Social convection-whatsits?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Never mind. Let’s go, we’re probably late now.”

“Oh God, what if he gets angry that I was late?” 

“Which is why we’re going now,” Zayn repeats. 

Zayn manages to get Niall to leave the bathroom, only to be vaguely confused as to which way they came from and end up going the total opposite way, which, of course, leads to them being completely and thoroughly lost. 

“Is it this way to the dress show?” Zayn finally asks an official looking person in a curtained off area who looks at them like they’re insane and doesn’t reply. “Wow, thanks for the help,” Zayn says to his retreating back. 

“This way’s better than nothing,” Niall decides and pushes through the curtain.

He’s greeted by the disconcerting flash of approximately a thousand cameras and takes a moment before he even registers that oh, _fuck_ , he must have wandered onto the stage. 

“Oh, fuck,” Zayn echoes from behind him. 

“Right, uh,” Niall mutters to himself, and comes to the conclusion that there’s only one way out of this--forward. 

Which is why he starts walking down the runway like he belongs there, deftly unbuttoning the buttons on his suit jacket and pulling it off, flipping it over his shoulder and putting a little swagger into his step. This is totally fine. He’s totally supposed to be here.

He can almost hear Zayn face palming behind him. 

Niall gets to the end of the runway and executes a little spin, shooting a wink toward a random guy in the audience, and starts heading back the way he came. He can see Zayn hovering at the back of the runway, looking for all the world like he isn’t paid enough for this shit, and he quickens his pace, wanting to get this over with.

Which is, of course, the exact moment he trips over his shoelace and falls off the side of the stage into the lap of some finely dressed lady. He thinks, blinking up at her, that she must be a member of the royal family. 

Yeah, that’s definitely the sound of Zayn face palming.

Right then.

-

_two ;_

“Hi, my name’s Harry Styles,” Harry starts. 

“Do you have an appointment?” the guard at the gates of Dashwood Manor asks. 

“Well, no, but I’m a close friend of--”

“No admittance without an appointment,” the guard says. 

Harry frowns. “I’m a friend of Niall Horan,” he says. “He’d want to see me, I swear.”

“No admittance,” the guard repeats. Harry is kind of afraid he might actually bite off Harry’s head through the bars of the gates somehow. He looks creepy enough. 

“Fine, fine then,” Harry says, stepping away and wandering back to where Liam and Louis are waiting by his and Louis’ motorbikes. “They wouldn’t let me in,” he tells them glumly.

“Tough luck,” Liam says. “You could try calling again?”

“I think we should climb the walls,” Louis says. “Very romantic, yeah? You’d like it if I climbed a big ass stone wall for you, right, Liam?”

“Probably,” Liam says. “We could do that, too.”

Harry stares at them in distaste. “Remind me why I thought bringing you two along for support was a good idea?”

-

Louis is complaining about the dirt on his jeans while Liam does something inappropriate to a hedge shaped like a small bear and giggles slightly madly to himself when Harry spots a flash of blonde hair across the stretch of green grass and yells, “Niall!” 

It takes a moment, but Niall’s face appears above the crest of the hill, and he waves. “Hey, Harry!” 

Harry jogs over, Niall meeting him halfway. “Hi,” Harry says when he reaches him, out of breath. “You look snazzy.”

Niall looks down at his suit and flushes. “Yeah, we went to this dress show thing, which was a bit of a disaster if I’m honest, but for some reason my dad invited us to stay for the rest of the summer, so...”

“The rest of the summer?” Harry asks. 

Niall nods. “Yeah. Hey, how did you get in here? And, uh... who are they?” he asks, craning his neck to look behind Harry. 

Harry glances back at Liam and Louis, who are thankfully merely standing next to each other talking and not doing something embarrassing. Harry gestures for them to come over. “Those’re my bandmates,” he says. “Liam’s the one with the short hair, Louis’s the other.”

“Right, you did mention you were in a band,” Niall says.

“So this is the infamous Niall,” Louis says loudly, skipping up beside Harry and offering his hand to Niall. Niall shakes it easily, flashing a grin at Louis. “We’ve heard much about you.”

“Oh?” Niall asks, looking from Louis to Harry. 

“Ignore Louis,” Liam says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Niall says.

“Wasn’t there supposed to be another one of you?” Louis asks.

Niall blinks. “Uh, you mean Zayn? He, er, was behind me somewhere... he probably went in the house.”

“No, I see him,” Liam says. “He’s heading this way.”

“Let’s go say hi,” Louis says, tugging on Liam’s hand. 

Niall watches them go in bemusement, then looks back to Harry. “I think I like your friends,” he says.

“Thanks,” Harry says, grinning crookedly. “I like them, too.” He pauses a moment, looking around a bit awkwardly, then adds, “Sorry we climbed the wall. I tried to call earlier, but you didn’t pick up, and then Louis and Liam convinced me it was a good idea to just come over here...”

“My phone was probably off, sorry,” Niall says. “And it’s fine, really. I myself prefer the wall as my method of entry.” He grins at Harry, and Harry smiles softly back. Niall has to struggle not to get stuck in it. “So, um, did you want to talk to me about something specific, or...”

Harry shrugs, still smiling a bit. “No, not really. Oh, um, we’re playing a coming out party tomorrow and we were wondering if you’d be there. It’s kind of your dad’s scene, so we thought maybe you would be.”

Niall frowns. “A coming out party? Like...”

“Like presenting teenagers to society as being ready to be courted or whatever,” Harry says. “Probably not what you’re thinking.”

“Ah, no,” Niall says, “not what I was thinking. I don’t know if we’re going. I can ask.”

“Sure,” Harry agrees. “We should probably go save Zayn from Liam and Louis’ clutches.”

“Right, yeah,” Niall says. When they reach Zayn, though, it’s to find him sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette while Liam and Louis make out on the other side of it, Louis perched securely in Liam’s lap with Liam’s hands on his arse. 

“I have no idea,” Zayn says preemptively. 

“They do this fairly often,” Harry says, his tone long suffering. 

-

“So,” Niall says, standing awkwardly to the side of the dance floor, “this is kind of really boring. That’s not just me, right?”

“It’s not just you,” Zayn says. “The father of the girls this party is for has told me some epic story about his chandelier twice now.” He swirls his glass of champagne around, then drains it. 

Niall frowns at him. “Where did you get that?”

“Nice girl called Perrie got it for me,” Zayn says, shooting a wink across the dance floor at a blonde. She smiles back at him before turning to talk to her friends. 

“Right,” Niall says. “I’ve been standing next to my father while he talks to various people all night and I still have no idea what any of their names are. I think my head is going to explode I’m so bored.”

“This music sucks, too,” Zayn says, then looks up at the stage. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Harry says. “Would sooner not hear this music at all than play it, but hey--pays the bills.” 

“You should take it up a notch,” Niall suggests. “Get the party started. Look, even Jesy and Jade are sitting there bored and it’s their party.”

“I could be fired,” Harry protests. Niall quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Probably not the greatest idea,” Zayn agrees, and Harry takes his hand off his guitar to point at Zayn meaningfully for a moment. 

“You know you want to,” Niall says, pulling out the full charm smile now, and he can practically see Harry’s resolve cracking. He raises his voice a bit to call out, “Hey, what do you say, Louis?”

Louis raises a drumstick at him and plays a subtle drumroll. Niall shrugs at Harry as if to say _what can you do?_ “You chicken?” he asks.

“Fine,” Harry says. “Fine, let’s do this.” 

Niall lets out a whoop along with the first heavy guitar riff of the classic _Teenage Dirtbag_ and practically slides on his heels across the dance floor to grab Jade’s and Jesy’s hands and drag them onto the floor. They seem extremely surprised to have this strange guy yelling at them to start dancing, but at least they listen, gesturing for Perrie and her friend Leigh-Anne to join in, too, and then Niall ventures around the rest of the room shaking his hips vaguely inappropriately at random people. By the time he makes it back to the stage where Harry is practically screaming out the chorus to the song, the entire room is hopping. 

“This is more like it!” he yells at Harry, and gets a huge grin back for his troubles. 

Of course, somewhere near the end of the song, when everyone is _really_ starting to have fun, the fucking stupid chandelier gives out and crashes down in the middle of the crowd.

From there Niall doesn’t really register much more than the firm grip of his father’s hand on his arm, the flashes of paparazzi cameras, and the distinct image of Zayn putting his face into his hands.

-

“You’re going to be okay on your own?” Niall asks.

Zayn waves him off. “Obviously. I’ll just read a book and talk to Nan. Nan gets me. Have fun on your date.”

Niall blushes. “Right, uh, okay. I will.” He backs away from the doorway, waving, and then turns to jog to where Harry’s waiting on his motorbike, getting on the back and jamming a helmet on his head.

“Did my son just get on the back of a motorbike?” Niall thinks he hears Bob say just before Harry roars off down the driveway.

-

It takes a good five minutes that Niall’s been standing in the queue at a tiny cafe near an open market before he registers the clicking he’s been vaguely hearing for what it is.

He turns to look directly at the bushes lining the short fence at the edge of the patio and spots the light reflecting off a camera lens, then slowly turns to see if he can spot where Harry’s saving them a table from where he is.

He can’t, and when he turns back, the camera and its carrier have migrated from being in the bushes to hovering closer, and then that somehow serves as a cue for a horde of paparazzi to come out of the woodwork.

Niall freezes, looking desperately around, and tries to push his way out of the queue. The paparazzi have gathered a crowd though, people looking to see who they’re there to photograph, and Niall is practically closed in. He takes a step back and bumps into someone who glares at him, and he mumbles an apology. 

He’s starting to feel like even the sky is coming down over his head, his heart racing nearly out of his chest, and then the paps start yelling questions at him and it’s all he can do not to just scream at them to get out of his way and leave him alone. 

It’s around the moment he can practically feel his knees crumpling so that he can lie down and just sob on the ground until everyone just goes _away_ that a reassuring arm circles around his torso and he looks up to see Harry’s determined face. 

“Come on, Niall,” Harry says softly in his ear. “It’s okay.” Niall makes a grateful noise that might be akin to a whimper and curls his hand into the fabric of Harry’s shirt at his side.

“Get out of my way,” Harry says loudly, guiding Niall carefully through the crowd. “Please, no comment, excuse me, thank you.”

It feels like possibly a lifetime that Niall is clinging to Harry and listening to him tell paparazzi to kindly fuck off without actually swearing at them before they’re free of the shouting and Harry stops moving. 

“Are you okay?”

Niall blinks and looks around blearily. “Yeah, I just... claustrophobic, and uh...”

“You don’t need to explain, it’s okay,” Harry says. “Are you okay now?”

Niall nods. “Yeah, um, I think I will be. Thank you.”

“No problem, it’s all right. Did you see that Samuels guy hovering off to the side? I think he had something to do with all those paps, they wouldn’t just show up for no reason.”

“Who? I couldn’t really see anything, to be honest,” Niall says.

“Right, no,” Harry says. “Do you want to get food somewhere else?”

“Somewhere inside, maybe,” Niall says, then chuckles weakly. 

“For sure,” Harry agrees. “I know just the place, come on.” He offers Niall his hand, and Niall takes it gratefully.

-

Harry pushes the boat off the side of the river and lets it float out, turning to grin at Niall. “This has been fun,” he says, settling down on the bench seat. “Sans scary paparazzi earlier, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “Thanks for buying me the guitar pick.”

“Of course,” Harry says. “Although I was more sorely tempted to get you that ravishing fuchsia scarf you tried on in the market.”

Niall snorts. “Shut up, that thing was ridiculous.”

“You looked adorable,” Harry says. “Now, what were we discussing? Your total lack of grace?”

“Something like that,” Niall huffs. “I just keep messing everything up, you know? I’m trying to connect with my dad and all, but with his advisors breathing down his neck and me blundering into walls... I dunno.”

“Well,” Harry says, “I was born the son of a very prestigious lady who was disowned by her parents for marrying below her. My grandparents took pity on me and tried to bring me up in society, but I decided to give it up. Still have some tricks, though, if you want me to teach you.”

“You decided to give it up?” Niall asks. “What for?”

Harry shrugs. “Didn’t feel like me. I’m happier scrounging for cash with Liam and Louis than anywhere else, really.”

Niall nods. “Makes sense.” He pauses, looking out over the water, then looks back to Harry. “Tricks?”

Harry grins his stupid crooked smile. “Stand up,” he says, doing so himself.

“Stand up?” Niall asks, looking dubiously at the water.

“Yeah, come on,” Harry says. “It’s fine, if we fall the water’s not even deep.”

Niall carefully gets to his feet. “Okay, now what?”

“Now,” Harry says dramatically, “we bow.” 

“Bow,” Niall repeats skeptically.

“Yes. Put this hand here and this one here,” Harry instructs, tugging Niall’s arms so he’s got one tucked behind him and the other across his middle. “Get that chin up,” he adds, cupping Niall’s chin and adjusting it. Niall puffs out his cheeks and makes exaggerated kissy lips, which makes Harry giggle. “None of that, this is serious,” he says. “Now we bend at the waist, all formal like. Let’s see you try.”

Niall goes for it a little too enthusiastically, trying to add a flourish involving putting one foot behind the other and flipping his front hand out, and the next thing he knows he’s lost his balance and grabs for Harry, dragging him down into the water with him. 

Harry splutters and spits water out. “Not quite like that!” he says, but he’s laughing. Niall sticks his tongue out at him. 

Harry helps Niall clamber his way back into the boat and Niall helps him in turn by pulling him in so they land on top of each other in the bottom of the boat, and from there it just makes sense to Niall to pull Harry in by his collar and kiss him. 

It’s a bit cold and tastes a lot like river water, but Harry’s smiling against Niall’s lips and Niall really wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I think you pretty much got it, yeah?” Harry says, and kisses Niall again.

-

“Don’t screw this one up,” Zayn says. “I actually want to stay and watch the rowing. Perrie said she’d be here.”

“My best behaviour,” Niall says solemnly. “I’ve had this lecture from about four different people today. You make five. I think I get it.”

“We’re just concerned, dear,” Nan says, patting Niall’s hand comfortingly. It works, mostly because it’s Nan. 

Of course, the first thing Niall sees when he gets out of the car is Harry, wearing a deeply unflattering neon vest and a smirk. “Hey! You didn’t say you’d be here!”

“Well, neither did you,” Harry says. “You’re looking good.”

“They keep stuffing me into different suits saying how each one is appropriate for the event or whatever. I think I look like a monkey in all of them.”

“You don’t look like a monkey,” Harry says fondly. 

“That’s what I told him,” Zayn says. “Hi, Harry. Are Louis and Liam here, too?”

“Ah, yep, somewhere,” Harry says. “So, gotta be on your best behaviour today, hm? There are even more reporters than normal.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Yes, I guess they’re all just waiting to see what crazy thing I’ll do next.”

“Crazy like kissing a lowly valet?” Harry asks, waggling his eyebrows, and Niall laughs, leaning in to do just that.

Except then some guy Niall vaguely recognises from the fashion show sidles up beside him and goes, “Niall, they want to take some photos of you and your father. I’m Andy Samuels, by the way.”

“Uh, right,” Niall says, blinking. “Thanks. See you later, Harry.”

Harry waves, and Andy looks consideringly between them.

-

“So, let me give you some advice,” Andy says not ten minutes later, standing uninvited next to Niall at the end of the dock. “First, the race is that way,” he says, pointing. Niall takes his binoculars down from where he’d been using them to spy on Harry doing the very interesting work of parking cars and glares at Andy.

“Can I help you with something, mate?” he asks.

“No, but I’m thinking I can help you,” Andy says. “My second piece of advice is to drop your little boy toy, because that fairy shit just ain’t going to fly.”

Niall blinks. “Um. Right then,” he says dryly. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Andy says. “So, I was thinking if you could get me an in to talk to your father, I--”

Niall doesn’t even feel guilty about abruptly pushing him into the lake. “As if I’d ever do anything for you,” he yells at a sputtering Andy. “And don’t _ever_ let me hear you talk about Harry like that again.”

“Niall, Niall, come on,” his father is saying in his ear, grabbing at his flailing arms, and dragging him away, and then Niall abruptly remembers the whole _best behaviour_ thing and loses colour to his face. He spots Zayn in the crowd, shaking his head but looking weirdly proud, and then his father is yelling something about keys at Harry, of all people, and--

Shit, no one told him his father knew how to drive a motorbike.

-

“No one told me you know how to drive a motorbike,” Niall says. 

“I bet no one told you I can knit, either,” Bob responds, sitting down on the swing next to Niall and looking tired.

Niall blinks. “What?”

“Never mind. I bet there are a lot of things we don’t know about each other. I mean, you’ve been alive for nearly eighteen years and I’ve been alive for a lot more and we never knew each other for all of them.”

“Right,” Niall says. “That’s why I came to meet you, but it, uh, didn’t really play out like I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” Bob asks, turning to look at Niall. Niall pushes his toe into the sand and considers it. He’s just opening his mouth to respond when Bob adds, “No, wait. Instead of telling me, why don’t you show me?”

Niall looks up and furrows his brow. “Show you?”

Bob nods. “Yeah. We’ve got all afternoon. Let’s... hang out.”

Niall grins.

-

“For heaven’s sake,” Nan says, regarding the dirt on Bob’s trousers with exasperation, “doesn’t anyone ever use the gates to get in here?”

“There were a lot of paparazzi,” Niall explains. 

“You’ve got a little...” Zayn says, reaching toward Niall’s face and rubbing at a spot just above his lip. “Hm, no, not a grass stain then, just your natural monster skin showing through.” Niall rolls his eyes.

“Where have you two been all afternoon?” Nan asks. “We were getting worried.”

“Not really,” Zayn says. “That was Tommy and Benny, really. They’re well stressed.”

“Oh good lord,” Bob says. “Niall and I were just...” He glances sideways at Niall, who smiles at him.

“Hanging out,” Niall fills in, because it wasn’t even really important what they were doing; he’s just glad he actually feels like he has a father for once. “We were hanging out.”

Bob smiles back for a moment before his expression turns sour. “I’d better go talk to Benjamin and Thomas.”

“Godspeed to you,” Nan says.

-

Niall is sitting on the counter in the kitchen sometime after midnight eating cereal when Bob shuffles into the room and opens the fridge. He pulls out the milk and moves over to the counter to get a bowl, at which point Niall decides to make him aware of his presence by greeting him loudly. Bob jumps and nearly hits his head on the cupboard door. 

“Er, sorry,” Niall says, wincing. 

“Niall,” Bob says. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Sorry,” Niall repeats, hopping off the counter and moving to sit on a stool by the island, pushing his box of cereal toward Bob. “Have some cereal.”

“Thank you,” Bob says, sitting and pouring himself a bowl. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Niall says. “You?”

“The same.” Niall nods in what he hopes is an understanding manner, and they eat a few bites each of their cereal in silence before Bob clears his throat. “Listen, Niall...”

“Mhm?”

“I was talking to my advisors... as you know... and we agree that, um, in light of the political race and, uh, recent events, it would probably be best if--”

“No, stop,” Niall says, holding up a hand. “It’s all right, I know you’re going to tell me I have to leave. It’s fine.”

“No!” Bob says vehemently, and Niall looks up from where he’d been staring morosely into his bowl, startled. “No, you don’t have to leave. I don’t... want you to leave. But, um, if you’re going to stay here, it’s probably best that things... change.”

Niall blinks, then slowly nods. “Things,” he repeats. “Like... me. I need to change.”

Bob frowns and shakes his head minutely, which Niall completely misses because he’s contemplating his cereal again like it has all the answers in the world. 

“It’s all right, I understand,” Niall continues. “Better than my best behaviour. I’ll be a proper society lad and make up for everything that’s gone wrong. You need to win the election so that I can meet Obama, anyway.”

“Your best effort,” Bob says. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem, Bob,” Niall says, standing up. “I’m going to go to bed. See you in the morning?” 

“Yes, in the morning,” Bob says, and watches as Niall walks out of the room looking ten times smaller than he had sitting on the counter ten minutes ago.

-

_three ;_

Three weeks, six formal events, four casual events, and more long suffering looks from Zayn than he can count after Niall had officially declared himself on _better than his best behaviour,_ Niall straightens his tie in the mirror of his fancy ensuite and wonders vaguely why he even bothers. He turns to go downstairs with a sigh, checking his fancy watch for the time. 

“You look really nice,” Harry says, spotting Niall walking into the foyer of the manor. “Kind of _too_ fancy for the kind of gig we’re going to, really.”

Niall blinks, then abruptly remembers. “Oh my God, your friend’s thing,” he says. “I totally forgot.”

Harry shrugs. “That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll wait.”

Niall frowns. “No, like, I mean, I can’t go.”

“What?”

“I can’t go,” Niall repeats. “We got invited to the Queen’s garden party, and we need to go, and--” He falls silent. Harry’s expression has gone stony. “I’m really sorry.”

“Right,” Harry says. “You’ve, uh, you’ve kinda been saying that a lot? And you’re kind of not the Niall I met at the beginning of the summer anymore. So, um, call me when he reinhabits your body, okay?”

It sounds like it should be said in a biting tone, but Harry just sounds sad, and that’s almost worse, really. “Harry,” Niall says, trying to catch Harry’s sleeve as he turns away, but Harry tugs it out of his grasp easily.

“Bye, Niall,” Harry says, and he disappears out the front door. 

“Fuck,” Niall says as it closes behind him. 

“I’ll say,” Zayn says from the corridor. 

-

“Are you having a good time?” Niall asks the dark haired girl he’s dancing with a week or so later, spinning her to avoid going in a direction that will mean he has to look at Harry playing the guitar onstage. He’s really regretting booking his band to play at his coming out party thing ( _thing_ because it’s not actually a coming out party, Niall got the impression that those are meant mainly for girls and that this is similar but not the same, but to be honest he hadn’t really been listening). 

“Decent enough,” the girl says. Niall wishes he could remember her name because he feels like enough of a jerk for dancing with her mostly out of obligation; he doesn’t need forgetting her name on top of that. “It’s not the worst party I’ve ever been to.”

Niall cocks his head in question. “Oh yeah? You sound like you have stories.” 

The girl is opening her mouth to respond when someone taps on Niall’s shoulder and he twists to see Louis smiling brightly at him. “Um,” he says.

“Hi, Niall,” Louis says. “Haven’t seen you around, been missing you.”

“Um,” Niall repeats, “yeah, kind of busy right now, Louis.”

“With lovely Amy, yes,” Louis says, and Niall wants to know how the fuck he knows her name. “Can I borrow Niall for a moment, Amy? I just want to talk to him about something.”

“No problem,” Amy says, taking her arms down from where they were folded neatly around Niall’s neck. “Thanks for the dance, Niall.”

“My pleasure, really,” Niall says, but Louis is already dragging him away. “Dude, what was that for?”

“Liam and Zayn and I are staging an intervention,” Louis says. “We look at you and we don’t see Niall Horan anymore, and we’ve decided we won’t stand for it.”

“Uh--”

“It’s best you keep quiet for this,” Zayn says. Louis’s pulled Niall into some sort of broom closet and closes the door neatly behind them. Liam is perched on an overturned bucket in the corner and Louis wastes no time in sitting down in his lap. Zayn moves so he’s standing between Niall and the door and crosses his arms. 

“We think you need to rethink your priorities,” Liam says. “Also, I said we should maybe not do this whole broom closet thing, but Louis insisted.”

“You agreed it was all right,” Louis says mildly. 

“Wait,” Niall says, “shouldn’t you two be playing in the band?”

“Please,” Louis says. “Like Harry can’t carry a nice acoustic tune for two seconds. Back to the priorities thing. I want you to tell me, Niall James Horan,” he says, pointing rather menacingly at Niall, “what the most important thing in the world to you is.”

Niall frowns. “Uh... food?”

Zayn snorts. “For fuck’s sake. Be deep, Niall. And don’t say music next.”

Niall snaps his mouth shut. He had definitely been planning to say music next. 

“Try thinking relationships,” Liam advises.

“Er, love?” Niall tries. 

“What kind of love?” Louis asks.

“The... all of it?”

“Okay, what we’re going for is loving yourself,” Zayn says.

“It is?” Louis asks, looking perplexed. “I thought--”

“Yes,” Zayn interrupts. “It is. You need to love yourself. And to do that, you need to be yourself.”

“I... can I go back to my party?” Niall asks. “There are important people to talk to.”

“Are you saying there are more important people than us?” Liam asks. He sounds genuinely curious, and it trips Niall up.

“No-- I mean, um.”

“Are you quite finished?” Louis asks. 

Niall blinks, letting the question really sink in. The thing is, he really gets what they’re trying to tell him, and they’re definitely right. He doesn’t want to be Niall Dashwood, the socialite boy with a father, not if it means he can’t be Niall Horan. He thinks maybe he knew that all along. “You know,” he says slowly, “I think I am.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, the edge of a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Yeah,” Niall says, and this time he meets Zayn’s eyes when he says it.

-

Niall stares blankly at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom and sighs. He wishes he could have brought Zayn back with him, but Zayn had insisted he needed to stay in England--something about taking someone home to meet his parents (Niall really hadn’t been sure whether he meant Perrie or Liam and Louis or maybe even Nan for all Niall knew; wow, he’s been a shit friend). 

It’s a stark change, going from spending day in and day out surrounded by people to spending all his time by himself. He’d been really glad to see his mum, of course (as she had been to see him, and she’d had a few choice words to say about his father), but she still has to go to work in the daytimes, which leaves Niall to mope around the house by himself, eating unhealthy food and playing video games. 

All in all, Niall really just thinks he needs less time to fantasise about Harry coming and sweeping him off his feet. Also, he really needs to suck it up and get over it. 

-

Niall is sleeping at two in the afternoon when he’s rudely awoken by the near constant sound of his doorbell being pressed over and over. He groans and drags himself out of bed, rubbing at his eyes and fully ready to tell whoever the fuck is at the door to piss off, thank you very much.

He opens the door, words half out of his mouth, and is greeted by Harry’s face. He blinks, rubs at his eyes again, and thinks that this fantasy in particular is startlingly realistic. 

“Hi, Niall,” Harry says. “I missed you.”

“Eh?” Niall says intelligently. Harry laughs and reaches forward to grab at Niall’s too large t-shirt, using it to tug him in so he can kiss him. 

“Always wanted to do something like that,” Harry says when he pulls away. “All spontaneous and like a movie.”

“Um,” Niall says, and almost expects to hear Zayn laughing at his speechlessness from somewhere behind him. “What are you doing there? Here, I mean? Um.”

“You didn’t call me when Niall came back,” Harry says, “I had to hear it from Liam and Louis and Zayn. By which I mean they harassed me until I did something drastic.”

“Drastic, um, yeah,” Niall says. “How did you get here? Aren’t plane tickets kind of expensive?”

Harry grins. “This isn’t the drastic thing I did. Look who I brought with me,” he says, and then he steps aside so that Niall can see his father standing at the end of his driveway, kicking nonchalantly at the pavement. “He paid for my flight after I banged on the manor door for ages and complained at him about needing to talk to you.”

“Never heard of phones?” Niall asks weakly. 

Harry laughs. “That’s what he said. Don’t you appreciate my romantic gesture?”

Niall blinks and looks at Harry again. “I do. I’m glad you’re here.”

Harry beams. “Good. Now go talk to your dad.” He pushes Niall’s shoulder lightly, and Niall stumbles toward Bob, acutely aware that he’s dressed in clothes he sleeps in.

“Um, hi,” he says when he gets to Bob. “You brought me Harry.”

Bob shrugs. “He begged me to. I was feeling guilty enough about just letting you go without a second thought that it didn’t take much.”

“Guilty?” Niall asks hesitantly. 

Bob nods. “Yes. I wanted to apologise to you, Niall, for trying to make you someone that you’re not. It was too much to ask to get you to undertake that whole lifestyle.”

“It’s all right,” Niall says. “I wanted to. I just realised it wasn’t for me, that’s all. You’re still going to run for office, right? I still want to meet Obama.”

Bob laughs. “Yeah, I’m still running. And I promise, the second I get the chance, you’ll be first on the guest list to meet Obama.”

“Score,” Niall says. “Um, should we hug it out?”

Bob answers by gathering Niall into a hug, nearly squeezing his lungs out. Niall squeaks a bit, but he gives back at least half as good as what he gets, so he counts it as a win. 

“Are there any more surprises?” Niall asks when they break apart. “Like, did you bring the rest of my friends, too?”

Bob blinks. “They’re in the car.”

-

_fin._


End file.
